Tenmou
by patient zero
Summary: Original character Anna does what the Batman never could but what were her reasons? Based on a roleplaying group I participate in. No offense meant to Batmanlovers.


The door slammed open at that point, and I turned to stare. It was hard to keep the excited skip from showing on my face; I had to look startled, keep that frightened, cowed look on. It had to be genuine, and I admit it was hard. Here it was, finally, after all these weeks.

Not as I had planned, if I was being honest. He'd reacted sooner than I thought, and as I stared over the money I was counting, I knew I'd made one mistake. His chalk-white face was contorted in fury, the rictus that was his mouth looking all the more vicious. I should be afraid – _she_ would be afraid – so I try to evolve my startled expression into fear. I stand, I try to explain, but he closes in and cracks me across the face with the back of his hand. I lock my foreign personality into place, and endure the next few blows.

He's not speaking, so much, but the occasional acidic epithet gets spit out. He curses artistically, using his tone more than his words. Every explanation I attempt to speak, he slaps down.

He's good. He knows what to say, how to turn his hand so that the entire flat of it makes contact. Soon enough he balls the fist and I'm finally knocked down. By this time he's yelling – "ungrateful", "insipid bitch", those are peppered with his incoherent noises. The message I'm deciphering is _I made this possible, how dare you attempt to overshadow me?_

Everyone was right. His is a prideful soul. An angry, arrogant sociopathic murderer. But he's not seeing the pattern. He doesn't realize I'm leading this dance around the grubby apartment I'd commandeered. The Joker arrived before I'd expected him, but I'm never unprepared. A few more feet, over that table, and this game can begin in earnest.

He punches me with such force that my surprise does show for a moment, as I careen and crash over the table. I lay there, feigning a daze and even add a pitiful little moan and a weak, "Why?" But my fingers close around the cold metal, and I pull my hand tight against my side.

He's there, grabbing handfuls of the garish red and black, hauling me up to look into his furious gaze from mere inches. "How dare you!" he screams, sour breath washing over my face.

I smile. Blood seeps down my chin. Even angry, the Joker is smart, quick to catch subtle differences. There's a moment of confusion that flitters across his face. He calms quickly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"You're not Harley," he states. Doesn't ask, he knows already.

The smile goes wider. "Surprise."

The gun roars in the moment that follows, and I get to notice his dumbfounded expression. His grip disappears, and he falls backwards – staggers, really – before looking down. His gloved hands, formerly a battered but pristine white, are soaked with blood as he clutches his abdomen. One point-blank range .45 caliber slug into the belly; not a fatal wound, not immediately, but extremely painful.

My smile is gone. I take a moment to wipe the blood off my face, and peel off the mask and hood. The white make-up I'd put on came off with the blood, mostly, which I only notice when I wipe my hand off on the leg of my costume. Oh well.

The belly shot was for Barbara Gordon. I don't know her, I have never met her, but I read the newspapers. He's muttering some more, and I turn and pop off a shot at his knee – the one Barbara's father once shot. He screams, then starts laughing, laughing like the madman he is. He knows this game.

"Let me tell you a story," I murmur once he quiets down, moving around the room, removing the rest of the costume.

It was after the archer had called him by his real name that my curiosity was piqued. I was just fine calling him _Aka_, because that was who he was to me. But what the archer said, and what _Aka_ said later – "Do enough digging and you'll find my life story. Should read it. Gets kind of interesting . . . and confusing." – it made me dig. I never ask for explanations, I just tend to accept people for what they are, or what they present to me. But the _Aka_, he presented something else to me, and it spurred me to wonder.

I knew how deeply he loathed. I knew how much he wanted to be accepted, to not be continuously replaced and turned away. I understood a great many things about the Red Hood. He was a book I'd picked up and fell into the middle; naturally, I had to go and see the beginning. It would take time, but I had nothing but, while he was gone, chasing his own dragons.

It took some days and many wasted American dollars to find the path, but no thing worth unearthing would be simple. A few times I almost got lost, as other trails crossed the one I was trying to grab on to, and the one time I did fall off my intended path, it turned out well.

I found a stooge in one of Gotham's Chinatown "massage parlors" who'd worked for one of the city's most notorious villains. This thug, Trout-face Henry, couldn't hold his liquor, and had a fascination with Asian women. I took advantage of both, and opened the book to a strange and new chapter.

The Joker.

Henry had worked for the Joker years ago, and had been audience to many a sordid tale of the villain's past. Frightfully arrogant, Henry confided, the Joker told a hundred stories, but only some were true. He made mention of how Joker had been a nation's ambassador, to garner immunity for killing a boy and triggering a volatile Batman. When pressed, Henry couldn't really remember the boy's name, so I tried harder.

It only took a finger to jog his memory. He sang out one name, in pained squeals, and it made my heart stop. Pieces fell into place. I saw the dawn breaking over the horizon, illuminating everything I'd missed or overlooked.

_He'd killed _Aka. And the Bat had tried, but had failed, to achieve _tenmou._

I sat, and thought. I think I cried. But more than anything, I had found another Purpose, another task that required finishing.

When I was a little girl, I had many friends. I remember them all clearly, their names, their favorite colors, how their voices sounded. I remember everything about my childhood, from the minute I stepped into Papa's strange house, till the afternoon they took me away.

I was popular, for a _gaijin_, although Papa insisted I was no outsider. I was as much a Saito as he. My Papa loved me very much. That's why I never consider him a coward. But, others saw my blonde braids and my freckled face, and saw only _gaijin. _I was lucky that Papa had so many friends, because I had friends through their children.

The core group was myself and four other girls. Tanaka Aeka was our de facto leader, because she was the oldest – "By three minutes!" – and the most popular. She was a pretty girl, and she smiled a lot. Next were the sisters Yamamoto, Sachi and Hatoko; Sachi was the older, bossier one, and she always had short hair. Hatoko was, well, she was adorable. Constantly teased because she was so round, but a nicer girl you'd never meet. Kobayashi Nobumi rounded us out, the rich one who always had better clothing, the newest things, and the best snacks – and was always eager to share.

We played together every day. The Yamamoto girls and I went to the same middle school; Aeka-chan went to a Catholic girls' school, and Bumi-chan went to a private school. Every afternoon, right after school, we'd gather at someone's house (we changed every week), to read _shojo_ manga and discuss life. Around this time, _Bishōjo Senshi Sērā Mūn_ was very popular, and we decided we should be _senshi._ We picked for each other, often to great disagreement, but we eventually came to line-up we could all agree on. The only reason I was Sailor Venus, was because I was already blonde, and Aeka-chan desperately wanted to be Usagi. She had even given me the sad eyes, and I acquiesced.

It got to the point where we would call one another our character's name in public. Hatoko-chan, who was our Makoto, had just been asking me about the math assignment when the Painted Tigers had jumped us.

Takashi read the manga to me at night, when I couldn't sleep because of all the drugs in my bloodstream. He did the voices for me. Even then, he was attempting to save me from self-destruction. And that's why they killed him. _Tenmou_ was demanded.

I knelt beside the bleeding Joker, staring down at him as he giggled. The gun was cradled in my lap; my other hand was wrapped around the hilt of the Sacred Edge of Heaven. "Do you understand the concept of _tenmou_, Clown Prince?"

"Heh, I can't even spell that." He coughed, smirking up at me.

"Heaven's Vengeance, we call it. Divine retribution. Nothing escapes the eyes of heaven," I pause and glance upwards, then back down to him. "You've been a bad man."

He opens his mouth, some acidic wit on his tongue, and I impressed the butt of my gun into his already misaligned face. My left eye was swelling up, so I decided to hit him a few more times, for good measure.

"This has been owed you, for many years." I leaned back on my heels, bringing the katana in my hand to bear. "There's a legend that this blade burns the flesh of sinners. Let's find out."

I made one stop, after that. A package was left on the steps of the police department headquarters. I was even kind enough to leave a note. I didn't bother sticking around to see their reactions when they opened the box – truth be told, I actually hurt. But I felt that warm, familiar sense of fulfillment. The point has been made. _Tenmou_ was achieved.

I gingerly pull the helmet on and kick the bike to life. I've earned some relaxation, or at least some painkillers. I think I lost another tooth.

_A certain person was brought to shame because he did not take revenge. The way of revenge lies in simply forcing one's way into a place and being cut down. There is no shame in this. By thinking that you must complete the job you will run out of time. By considering things like how many men the enemy has, time piles up; in the end you will give up. No matter if the enemy has thousands of men, there is fulfillment in simply standing them off and being determined to cut them all down, starting from one end. You will finish the greater part of it._

_- _Yamamoto Tsunetomo


End file.
